


ONE BITE

by TheInfamousDoctorF



Category: Call of Duty, nazi zombies
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Profanity, allergic reactions, bad German accents, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInfamousDoctorF/pseuds/TheInfamousDoctorF





	ONE BITE

ONE BITE

Every day in Shi Na Numa was technically a bad day, but today had been worse then most.   
Nikolai had been downed twice and was now smarting in two different places from where he’d been unceremoniously jabbed with an adrenaline shot by his comrades. And Takeo had tripped over a submerged root and fallen head-first into the filthy swamp water, soaking him to the bone. Both he and Nikolai had excused themselves to dry off and tend their wounds alone.   
Early that morning Dempsey had also gotten isolated from the others with a dry gun, and had had to run an inordinate amount of laps before he could be assisted. He growled at the pain in his raw ankles, and cast a glance at the Nazi in the corner. Richtofen couldn’t seem to stop scratching at his skin. He’d gotten downed in the long grass and swarmed with mosquitoes before anyone could reach him.   
All in all, they were grateful when the sun finally slipped below the horizon and the hated zombies disappeared back into the surrounding swamp.   
Richtofen hadn’t felt this miserable in quite a long time. His skin burned from the bites and he was tempted to beg the Russian for some of his vodka to pour on his wounds. The searing pain might provide a welcome distraction. He scratched furiously at his neck and his nails came back with the smallest crust of blood. Sighing, he pulled his leather glove back over it. The voices in his head were also especially loud tonight. They whispered horrible things, and he fought the urge to shout aloud for them to shut up. The pain and noise was getting unbearable. Edward suddenly felt dizzy and weak and allowed himself to slide down the wall he was leaning on to rest on the hard wooden floor.   
Tank noticed the German slump and he curled his lip reflexively. ‘Why of all people, did he have to get stuck with the damn kraut? Fucking Richtofen, always giving orders and acting so sneaky.’ If Tank didn’t think they wouldn’t get out of here without what Richtofen knew, he’d be tempted to just kick the schizophrenic doctor into the swamp and leave him to his precious zombies.   
It was as if the doctor could sense the hate the Marine was directing at him. Edward knew what he might need to cure his illness, but he feared that Dempsey would refuse him if he asked directly. If only to see his hated rival suffer. And now Richtofen feared he had waited too long, he’d already become to weak to take what he needed by stealth or force.   
Tank noticed Edward staring at him strangely and he returned the questioning look with a hard scowl.   
The German read the expression on the American’s face and there was the slightest flicker of sadness on his lips before they curled into an equal sneer back at Tank. The light from their small fire showed a sheen of perspiration on his scarred face. He gritted his teeth against the incessant howling of the voices in his mind. His throat felt raw and swollen, but perhaps it was just sore from the wild laughter that often gripped him in the thick of battle. A shiver coursed through his body, the sweltering hot night suddenly seemed very cold. He wrapped his arms around himself; turning up the collar on his jacket and pulling his knees to his chest to conserve what warmth he could still feel. And though he’d never willingly admit it, Edward was afraid. Deep in his heart, he knew something was very, very wrong.   
Tank was preoccupied watching the fire and pulled out a cigar, chomping it lightly in his teeth. He rose up from the box he was sitting on and cast a disdainful glance back in the Nazi’s direction. What he saw almost made him drop his cigar.   
Dr. Richtofen was curled in a little ball with his wide hat obscuring his face. His shoulders were shaking as though he were sobbing silently and his arms were wrapped tightly around his knees like someone dying of cold.   
“Pathetic.” Tank muttered. He walked close to the German and kicked him lightly in the boot. “Are you crying? What the fuck is wrong with you?”   
Richtofen forced himself to look up at the big Marine, but he couldn’t speak, his throat was constricted.   
Tank’s face went white when he realized that Edward wasn’t weeping, he was gasping for air. His normally pale skin was flushed and his throat was inflamed where the insects had feasted on his exposed neck. He grabbed weakly at Tank’s pant leg before slowly tumbling sideways to sprawl on the floor.   
Dempsey was considering just walking away and letting fate take its course. What was one less Nazi anyway? The others weren’t around. He could just walk away and come back later when the deed was done. ‘Just walk away.’ But his feet stayed planted firmly in place.   
Richtofen could almost feel the other man pulling away from him; in his feverish state he could see his own death in those limpid blue eyes. Anger burned in his heart, not now, it was far too soon. There was still so much work to do. A few bitter tears escaped his own eyes and he let his head rest sideways on the rough wood, his fingertips just touching the American’s leather shoe.   
But Dempsey had seen that look before; it was like he knew Tank was going to abandon him, and with that thought the light of hope went out of the German’s eyes. It reminded him of past friends who’d been horribly wounded on the battlefield and ordered him to carry on without them. Those voices still echoed in his head just as surely as the demons that screamed in Richtofen’s. Against his better judgment he sat down on the floor across from Edward.   
Tank had no medical training and he wasn’t sure what, if anything could be done. Only the doctor knew what he needed to survive.   
Through the whirl of voices and clouds filling his vision Edward struggled to make himself understood, he shrieked inside, but only managed to whisper, “…so cold.”  
Tank’s eyebrows shot up at this, the weather must be 100 degrees. He himself was sweating in just a tank top and a light jacket. The frail doctor was shivering on the floor and there was nothing to cover him with.   
Dempsey swore under his breath, if Nikolai or Takeo came back now he’d never hear the end of it, but it was the only solution he could come up with. Gritting his teeth in disgust he gathered up the doctors limp body and cradled it close to him for warmth. His eyebrows arched with surprise, beneath his flair and bulky clothing the doctor weighted almost nothing. Tank lifted him as easily as a child with only the metal on his leather jackboots scraping heavily against the floor.   
Edward felt like he was lost in a blizzard of words that were more like static then intelligent speech. The relentless voices hammering him from every angle as he struggled for each breath. And then there was a glow of sorts around him, he was lifted and a glorious warmth shoved back the relentless, painful chatter. In the distance he heard a deep voice asking; “what do you need?”   
Tank saw the doctor’s lips moving weakly and he leaned close to hear the hushed words between each labored breath. “One, one, five.”  
“The meteor? What the hell do you want that shit for? Do you just want to give up and turn into a zombie that badly?”  
Richtofen could feel a sort of darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision. Survival now depended on making the Marine understand that what he needed was not the stone itself, but what Tank unknowingly carried inside himself. He pawed clumsily at Dempsey’s closest hand and tried to pull it nearer his face. “One, one, five… blood…”   
Despite his feelings about the Nazi, Tank was increasing concerned for him. It was like his life was slipping away with each labored breath. “Dammit, I don’t understand.” He let the doctor guide his hand until it rested lightly on Edward’s cheek.   
And with what strength remained; Richtofen bit Dempsey. His dull teeth could not break the skin, but he suckled pitifully at the heel of Tanks bare hand. Tears trickled down his face as he felt himself falling into the yawning darkness below.   
He didn’t understand why, but the nature of what Richtofen wanted hit Tank all at once. In a panic he fumbled for his combat knife, and after wiping it on his pants leg and praying it was clean, he viciously slashed the meat of his forearm with the blade.   
The warm crimson fluid dribbled down his arm and he hissed at the pain. Turning the doctor in his lap, he held the fresh wound under the German’s nose.   
Lost somewhere in his fever, Edward smelled his favorite test subject’s hot blood with its taint of 115, and lunged toward it. Pale lips wrapped around the Marine’s injury, and he felt the Nazi suckle desperately at the wound.   
The feeling was foreign and strangely intimate, and Tank felt a bit of a blush creep up his cheeks. The sensation of the other man licking and sucking at his stinging skin was stimulating something entirely different.   
The warm blood slid down Edward’s throat, its potent chemicals interacting with his failing body. In its raw form the 115 could bring the dead back to life. But when refined and injected in measured doses, it would give strength, speed and heal the subject who received it. But the mad doctor was also addicted to the taste of blood and the metallic flavor made him moan weakly around the source of the flow.  
Dempsey was having a hard time sorting out his feelings. It was difficult to hold on to his formerly white hot hatred for the arrogant Nazi when the man was curled up in his lap and trembling as he pathetically lapped the crimson fluid from Dempsey’s cut. Gradually the flush and swelling disappeared from his face and his breathing slowed and evened out. He let go of the wound and a tiny dribble of blood escaped the corner of his mouth.   
Tank was mesmerized by what he was seeing; he’d never really looked at Edward up close. His hollow cheeks and facial scars drew attention away from the most beautiful eyes the Marine had ever seen. They were olive green and filled with an infinite sadness he could never hope to understand.   
Richtofen looked back in equal wonderment, but his vision was still blurry from the chemical shocks he’d endured. The face that stared back at him seemed angelic, his confusion smoothing away the stubble and bruises, blurring Tank’s close cropped hair into tumbling golden locks, and giving his deep blue eyes the shimmer of a clear summer sky. He craned his neck closer to the face above him, whispering thanks to the unearthly visage.   
Tank saw Edward’s lips moving weakly and leaned closer to hear; and as his hot breath tickled the small hairs on the other’s chin, the doctor rose to meet him, devouring his chapped lips in a hungry kiss before collapsing back down into Tank’s lap.   
Dempsey started to shake the limp German but then realized that he was just asleep. The swelling and redness around his neck and face had receded. His breathing was slow and deep and he curled peacefully into the cradle of the blonde’s body.  
Tank just stared at the doctor; he could still taste blood on his lips from where Edward had kissed them. He didn’t understand how his fluids had seemingly healed the man in his arms. But he was forced to admit that he would have felt bad if he’d simply let the Nazi die like a dog on the floor of the fishing shack.   
Tank looked down at the pale figure in his lap. Dempsey could feel the man’s ribs even through his shirt and bulky jacket. How on earth had Richtofen made it this far with such a weak body? He’d bedded oriental women with more meat on their bones. Tank wet his lips, still tasting the kiss.   
The Marine resolved right there to demand some clear answers from the effeminate doctor once he woke up, but for now he’d let Richtofen be and complete his strange healing. “Ech,” he grumbled “sweet dreams you little vampire.”   
“Your knife ish poking mein backside” Edward mumbled in his sleep.  
Tank looked down at his combat knife still lying where he’d discarded it and blushed again. ‘Frickin Kraut.’


End file.
